This Gives Life to Thee
by Keiran
Summary: [one-shot] A sonnet-fic. Heero is a certain well-known writer, who finds his muse in a child of a Lord. Genuine 100 Fluff. Shounen-ai, platonic 1x2.


Author: Keiran  
Title: This Gives Life to Thee 1/1  
Rating: G  
Genre: Romance. A sonnet fic, if there's such a thing.  
Pairings: 1x2 (that's not an 'x' that a plus. ff.net rejects them fo some reason)  
Warnings: Shounen-ai. Scary, ain't it? Heero is, quite literally, William Shakespeare. Now that's scary. shudders   
Archive: My site! If anyone wants to have it, all they have to do is ask.

Notes: This is one odd piece. It started when we were reading this very sonnet during English, and the teacher remarked that the person Shakespeare wrote for could actually have been a guy. I was suddenly assaulted with a vision of Heero sitting under a tree in Elizabethan garb scribbling something. So, this piece is a possible origin of Shakespeare's 18th sonnet. I have nothing to do with history of literature; I just had this mental picture. Might have slight conotations with the movie "Shakespeare in Love"

Thank you Sundaire for betaing!

* * *

_Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?  
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:   
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,   
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:   
_  
Heero scribbled furiously on a piece of paper, gazing longingly upon the grass fields. There was this creature again, shining and beautiful, basking in the sunlight. He couldn't tear his eyes away from it; they'd always stray back. The chestnut hair fell down its back in a braid, messed slightly by the horse ride, giving the sun more to reflect upon. He could do nothing but stare.  
  
Heero returned his gaze to the paper he was writing on. Four lines of words stared back at him, willing to be continued. He raised his head again, watching the tender rays of sun surround the honey-brown head like a halo. At the moment, nothing could have made Heero happier than running his fingers through the mass. He watched in something akin to adoration as the slim figure all but threw itself on the ground, sighing deeply. From this angle he could almost see its face, if only it moved a little more to the side…  
  
Of course, this position offered him a great view of the boy's smooth chest, despite the white shirt. Heero was not going to complain. He stared at the paper and scratched his chin with a feather.

_Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,  
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,  
And every fair from fair sometime declines,  
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed;_

The sun, no matter how hard it may try, it would never be as bright as him. Starting with the fact that the sun was sometimes covered by clouds and it did set every once in a while. This creature… Heero had seen him six times so far. Three times when he snuck into the mansion owned by his family, some influential lord of this-or-that. Once he was sitting by the fountain, his chin resting on a low bench surrounding the spring. Heero had been hiding on the other side of the pool, making sure that the bushes covered his presence entirely. He sat there and stared to his hearts content, watching as the lights from the mansion reflected by the water played upon the boy's surprisingly delicate features. If it weren't for the fact that his father obviously had violet eyes, Heero suspected that there would be some serious doubt about his sire – after all, he could have gotten his looks only from his mother.  
  
It was nearly early autumn then. The next time Heero snuck into the grounds it was winter – snow was everywhere making the countryside shine even with the barest hint of light. He watched as the object of his obsession played with some other children in the snow.  
  
Heero shook his head, banishing the images from his mind. He went back to his poem and scribbled.  
  
_But thy eternal summer shall not fade,  
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest,  
Nor shall death brag thou wanderest in his shade,  
When in eternal lines to time thou growest;_  
  
There was this one time when he followed a procession into the cathedral, just to see the bright violet eyes lightening up the mystique interiors of the grand building. He was sure that the child would have cried – after all it was his mother who was being buried – but he just stood there, gazing at the coffin strangely serene, almost as if he knew and saw something no one else could. His shiny mane was carefully braided this time, contrasting sharply with the black clothes he wore. If Heero ever was to become a painter, he was sure that this image would be the best among his works – a black-clad angel in a dark cathedral, smiling to the deceased tenderly.  
  
Heero sighed he looked at the sun, noting that he probably didn't have much time before the boy had to return home. He scribbled some final lines on the paper and stood up, brushing his pants as he moved. He cast one last regretful look at the lovely youth on the grass and walked away.  
  
He walked slowly along the country road, heading toward the centre of London where he lived. Suddenly he heard a horse running after him, so instinctively he moved to the side. Nobility these days, no regard for others. He was rather shocked when the animal was pulled to a stop next to him and the rider got off. Heero turned his head and stared in disbelief.  
  
"Hello. Is that yours?"   
  
Looking up at him were the bright violet eyes that haunted his sleeping and waking moments for the past year. In his hand was the sonnet he had written earlier. Heero's knees almost gave way. He managed a tight nod and reached for the paper.   
  
"Thank you…," he answered quietly, almost afraid that if he spoke too loudly the vision would disappear.  
  
"You're a poet then? What's your name?" the boy asked again, smiling beautifully.  
  
"Heero. I mean William," he corrected himself immediately. "William Shakespeare."  
  
"So, is it Heero or William?"  
  
"William. But my friends call me Heero. I don't really know why," he answered shyly. He wanted to ask for the other's name, but didn't quite dare. The boy was a noble after all. Fortunately he needn't have worried.  
  
"I certainly can understand that, Master Shakespeare. My parents named me Devaux Uriel Orpheus Maxwell. It is kind of embarrassing to introduce myself, so people call me Duo." He smiled beatifically. "Tell me, do you write plays as well?"  
  
They walked slowly, conversing about poetry and, unavoidably, the weather, when Heero suddenly stopped.  
  
"I better not go there, Lord Maxwell. Your father will not be pleased," he said, pointing at the gardens that led directly to the gates of Duo's home. They stood for a few seconds under the shade of the trees.  
  
"Unfortunately, you're right. Goodbye, Master Shakespeare, I hope I'll see you again," Duo answered slowly. He moved to leave, but at the last minute he turned back and standing on his toes pressed a chaste kiss to his companion's lips. He pulled back with a deep blush gracing his features. "Thank you for the poem, Heero." He jumped onto his horse and virtually galloped to the stables, leaving Heero in the shade staring flabbergasted with a hand pressed to his mouth.  
  
A piece of paper fluttered from his hand to the ground.  
  
_So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,  
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee._

* * *

**The End**


End file.
